


The World Forgetting by the World Forgot

by Legendarybenwaballs (backb4thekick)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Memory Alteration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-12 08:31:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4472456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backb4thekick/pseuds/Legendarybenwaballs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you could forget it all, would you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Today is November 12, 2014. It’s a Wednesday. Um, my name is Mickey Milkovich and this is me recording myself before I have this thing done at Interstice—where uh—my memories will be erased. Fuck, I’m so bad at recording this shit. Anyways, the reason why I came here was to get rid of someone. Someone who changed my life. Someone I changed my life for. Not only has it been painful to remember what we had, because when it was going, it was fucking great. Like probably the best thing that ever happened to me and ever will since I’m fucked for life. I’m here to forget it all. I’m here to forget Ian Gallagher…_

**********

Svetlana looked at Mickey with pity now, a complete 180 since she used to view him with contempt. She had tried so desperately to make their marriage work, but it was clear that they were doomed from the start—at least as a couple. She wasn’t attracted to him, he wasn’t attracted to her, and even the birth of their son Yevgeny wasn’t enough to bring them together as husband and wife.

She accepted that Mickey was gay and that even she wasn’t as straight as she’d previously believed she was. Her hate for him had dissolved when Mickey had come out in front of everyone they knew and was beaten by his father shortly after. She didn’t think he’d ever do it—she thought he was weak—but he proved her wrong.

It was last week, when he hastily knocked at the door to be let in that she finally saw him break down. The man who could take two gunshot wounds, a pistol whipping, and a bar brawl finally broke down in front of her. “

What are you doing here?” she asked as she stared at him. She saw how his face lit up when he found out that Ian was finally back after being detained by the army and running off with his mother. She figured it would be days before she saw him again—they should have been making up for lost time.

“Fuck…just…just let me in.” He was out of breath, and the right side of his head was covered in crusted blood.

She moved aside, and he stepped in, still trying to catch his breath.

“Why you covered in blood?” Whatever the reason was, it was about time someone retaliated against Mickey for all the shit that he’d done.

“That Sammi bitch, over at the Galla…” He trailed off of his explanation, it was already hard to say their last name. The adrenaline from running for his life and having his head grazed by a bullet was crashing down on him and soon he was just crying. Right there, in the middle of the living room, he was already a mess.

He hadn’t cried like this in a while, heaving sobs that made his ribcage sore as he sucked in air. The last time had probably been years ago—and if anyone had seen him do it, he’d beat them into silence about what they saw. Milkoviches didn’t cry like little bitches.

Svetlana narrowed her eyes at him, she was pretty sure she knew at least half of what went down.

“Orange Boy…he break up with you?”

All Mickey could do was nod, words were impossible right now.

His sobs sounded painful—his throat was dry and he was croaking.

Soon he felt Svetlana wrapping her arms around him and she was gently rubbing his back. She wasn’t going to judge him for being fragile, tell him to be a man, or anything like that. She was going to let him get it all out.

“Shhh…” she whispered to him. He buried his face into her shoulder, letting the tears flow out, not bothering to stop them. Svetlana’s presence was comforting, motherly, and absolutely foreign to him. He’d never had someone to console him as a kid. So he turned to violence. With violence, he didn’t cry, he hurt the person who hurt him or he never gave someone the opportunity.

However, this time was different. He had no rage to mask what he really felt. It was all out there on the table, he was heartbroken and it hurt like hell. If anything, it was like being skinned and rolled in salt.

Svetlana ran her fingers through his hair, minding the part that was caked in blood. Her hand stopped at the nape of his neck and she held him like that for a bit as he began to get quieter.

She pulled away from him when she felt him loosen up. He looked like a child to her at this moment, sad and alone, and even her heart had felt a twinge.

She watched as he mashed his palms against his puffy eyes and sniffled.

He felt so tired now, his head hurt like hell and he felt unreal. Like this wasn’t really happening and it was a dream. Could he be in this much pain and still be dreaming?

Svetlana snapped him out of it, bringing him back to reality. He had a bloody wound from nearly being shot in the head. He was lucky the bullet had grazed him, but for how he was feeling, he wished Sammi’s aim would have been a little better.

“Let’s clean up.” She grabbed his hand and led him into the kitchen, sitting him down at the table.

 

**********

He was silent as she poured vodka on a somewhat clean looking towel. Of course they didn’t have hydrogen peroxide or rubbing alcohol—and whiskey wasn’t her drink of choice—but anything with alcohol was going to clean it.

“This will hurt.”

He’d definitely experienced more painful wear and tear before, being shot twice didn’t really prepare him for the third time. However, he didn’t think it would count as number three. He dodged a literal bullet.

She pressed the towel to his head and he didn’t make a noise. Perhaps it was the mixture of shock, sadness, and a broken heart, but he stayed silent.

The burn was actually pleasant—enough to bring his awareness to some physical pain rather than the ache inside his chest.

Svetlana kept it there for a bit, the towel turning a brownish-red from the blood. She kept cleaning him up, working on his crusty hair to the side of his face and his jawline. When she was finished, he gave her a small nod of appreciation.

She rummaged around the house and was able to procure a few cotton balls and wrap. She pressed the cotton to his head and wrapped the bandage around it tightly so the pressure could ensure it wouldn’t bleed much more.

“We clean it again tomorrow. You need rest.”

She took him over to the couch and took off his coat. He plopped down and when she got a blanket, he laid down and let her cover him.

His eyes met hers as she covered him, and he spoke softly, “Thank you.”

She gave him a modest smile.

“I know how to take care of men.” She simply stated.

With that being said, she walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He was tired as hell, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep.

**********

Now Mickey was a ragged mess. He was sleeping about two hours a day and it showed.

His normally youthful face sagged—bags formed under his eyes and he was letting his stubble grow in. His eyes, a bright blue, now just seemed dull as he stared at the back of a cereal box, uninterested with the actual cereal in his bowl.

“How about you read this instead?” Svetlana slapped a newspaper on the table, something on it was circled.

He looked up at her without reading it, “Is this your way of telling me to get a job?”

“If you read it, you would know it’s not job.”

_Interstice Experimental Clinic is looking for willing subjects to undergo a minimally invasive procedure dealing with neurological erasure. Any interested subjects should meet the following criteria: 18 to 35 years of age, good physical health, no previous mental conditions that effects memory, have gone through something that they have vivid memory of,and have physical objects that remind them of said experience. Subjects will be compensated accordingly. For more information, visit www.intersticeclinic.com or call our office at the number below._

“Ok…and what would I do with this?” Mickey asked, not sure what the ad or what Svetlana was suggesting.

“I look them up this morning on laptop. They work out of UIC. They perform a procedure where they are able to get rid of certain memories.”

“Why would I do that? I’m fine.” Mickey said flatly as he stared back at the maze of the cereal box.

“Like hell you are. You don’t sleep. You don’t eat. You lay on couch. You stink. You don’t change shirt or pants. You don’t shower. Even Yevgeny can see this.”

He gave her a quick look and looked back at his bowl of cereal, it was mushy and it looked unappetizing.

He got up with the bowl and dumped it down the sink, then returned to the couch and flipped on the TV.

Eventually, Svetlana left to go shopping and see her friends with Yevgeny. When she returned, Mickey was in the same spot, in the same clothes, staring at the TV.


	2. Chapter 2

Mickey was sitting in the lobby of the clinic, trying to wrap his head around the questions about his medical history. He’d finally given in and checked out the clinic after a night of thinking about Ian had him feeling at his lowest, and now here he was, writing down what limited health information he knew.

Every waking moment was spent thinking about Ian, the few hours of sleep he did get ended up with him being jolted out of it because it was about Ian. His days didn’t even feel like days anymore.

It was just hour after hour of him existing.

It wasn’t a life—reality was going to hit back hard. His father was going to be released someday and when he came back, Mickey wouldn’t be able to get away with living in his house, hell, maybe not even in this city.

He filled out the forms to the best of his abilities and handed it over to the receptionist along with his ID. It seemed like a long shot that he would be eligible for such a thing. Yes, he had a history of drug and alcohol abuse. Yes, high blood pressure ran in his family. So did high cholesterol and cancer.

She made a copy of the ID, gave it back to him, and told him to sit along with the other people who were waiting—to his surprise it was a lot. He guessed everyone there had a lot of pain.

He sat there and ran his fingers through his hair, looking at everyone else to try and gauge whether he should be there or not. Then he immediately stuffed his hands in his pockets. A woman was already staring at his hands and he wasn’t there to be judged by someone who looked like her husband dropped her off there so she could forget a few credit card numbers—or his mistress.

It felt like he’d been sitting there forever by the time he was called. In fact, they had to call his name twice since his mind was somewhere else and he was staring into space.

“Mr. Milkovich?”

A young man called for him and he looked up to see a pale boy with red hair. He looked young, probably around 20 to 22 years old and he still had some freckles dusting his cheeks. If Mickey felt like he shouldn’t be here, looking at him, he sure felt he did now.

“Hello, my name is Erik and I’m going to be reviewing your medical history and asking you about why you want to be involved with this project. We’ll be in room 6.”

Mickey just nodded, staring at him. He walked like Ian at least, had a similar haircut, but his eyes were off.

He didn’t have those eyes, however everything else was reminiscent of Ian. 

So Mickey just trailed behind him, wondering what was going on in some of the rooms as he tried to avoid looking at the way Erik walked.

“Have a seat.”

Mickey sat down in the chair provided for him, sliding back a little on the wheels. He wasn’t used to being nervous like this, and the presence of Ian 2.0 didn’t help.

“So I’ve looked at everything you’ve written on the sheets.”

Mickey looked up at him, his heart already sinking, “Is it bad?”

“No, it does very little in whether we choose you or not. I mean, safety is obviously important, but the procedure involves no cutting and a mild sedative. This was just to check and see if even that would be risky for you. We go more in depth when we do blood work and administer a physical.” Erik explained.

He sounded like he knew his stuff despite how young he looked. He looked like a kid in a lab coat--someone playing doctor--but with how he explained things he sounded more qualified than any other doctor Mickey had encountered.

“Oh. Okay.” Mickey mumbled. It put him more at ease since he'd wanted to lie about his health the further he'd gotten into it.

“So, you sounded worried there. You must really want to forget something.”

“That's why I'm here," Mickey retorted. He'd realized he sounded rude, but Erik didn't say anything back, he just waited for Mickey to go on.

"Not a something. A someone.” He finally confessed.

“A someone," Erik repeated. "Well we can do that here. Tell me about it. Why do you want to forget this person so badly?”

Mickey wasn’t used to opening up to strangers still. He was getting better with it, but it still seemed weird for him.

“Um, long story short, I loved this person. They made me happy. Then they uh, they got sick, I guess you can say. And then everything changed.”

“This person is still alive?”

“Yeah.”

“Well Mickey, thanks for the general overview. You don’t have to go into full detail now, but for the process to work, you’ll have to be more open and specific in the future.”

“I’ll work on that.” He muttered.

“Glad to hear it. So I know what you want to forget. But not so much as the why.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, but again, Erik was patient and didn't push him to speak.  

The silence grew as Erik's stare became very apparent to him, and Mickey couldn't take it after just a few seconds.

“Fuck. I want to forget because I’m hurt. Okay? I’ve been shot before. I’ve gotten my ass handed to me on a silver platter before. Nothing I’ve been through has hurt as much as this. I don’t sleep much and when I do, they’re there. When I’m awake they’re there. I can’t fucking function. It’s just hard…I’ve never fucking given a shit about someone this much. Is that enough of a why?” 

“Yes. That’s definitely enough.” Erik's voice was calm in contrast to Mickey's who sounded like he was ready to up and leave.

He realized his shoulders were sore and that he was tense. It wasn't that he was mad about having to explain, he was still broken and in turn, it manifested in the need for him to be defensive. 

These were simple questions, but this was a complete stranger. 

“Well Mickey, it’s been good to meet you.” Erik finally announced after flipping through some sheets one last time.

“Wait, that’s it? It’s done?” 

“This was just a consultation of sorts. Personally, I think you’re definitely a potential candidate. We’ll address more when me and a few others on this project agree. Until then, get some blood work done and physical as well. If we call you, bring that in.”

“Ok.” He loosened up, glad that this was finally over and that he hadn't fucked it up--maybe.

Erik offered his hand to Mickey as a polite gesture to say good bye. His pale skin looked smooth and his skin stretched over veins that were a light blue. It was hard enough to sit in the room with Erik, talk to him, but now touch him? That wasn’t going to happen. If anything, that was why Mickey was so wound up.

“Um, I’ll get that paperwork. Thanks.” Mickey walked past him, not taking him up on the handshake.

 

**********

He felt off now that he’d gone through with it.

He wondered if was it worth it. To forget Ian and just go on with his life like nothing happened? What would it be like? Would he forget Ian’s face? Ian’s voice? The smell of his hair after a shower? What it was like to wake up, having Ian wrapped around him? That would all go away. It would be like it never happened.

He smoked a cigarette as he waited for Svetlana to pick him up. She and Yevgeny were having a picnic in the park as she waited for him to be done.

He mulled over his thoughts as he took a long drag. All those memories would be gone, yet keeping them was painful. It was a fucking double edged sword.

With his last drag, the car pulled up.

“Hey, Little Man.” He said to Yevgeny as he got into the back to sit next to his son.

Svetlana looked at him in the rear-view mirror, waiting to hear what was going on.

When Mickey didn’t mention it, she asked. “So?”

“It looks like it might happen. I’m not really sure how I feel about it.” He admitted to her as he looked out the window. 

“Without forgetting, it’s quite impossible to live at all.” She told him, an air of wistfulness about her.

“Where’d the fuck you hear that?”

“I didn’t hear, I read. It’s Friedrich Nietzsche.”

“I thought you hated Germans.”

“I like Nietzsche.” She smiled at Mickey, but he didn't see. He was already back in his own head.

They drove home in silence after that, Mickey just thinking to himself. He still had a myriad of concerns, but the more he thought, the more appealing the outcome became.

Maybe this Nietzsche fucker had a point.


	3. Chapter 3

He’d been staring at his phone since he woke up, waiting for the screen to light up. The TV was on, but he had no interest in whatever was playing on it.

“Important caller?” Svetlana asked as she frowned into the cereal bowl she’d picked up besides Mickey’s phone. Again, it was soggy, meaning he had no intention of finishing it.

“You know, if you’re not going to eat it, don’t take it. You waste food.” She reprimanded.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

It was more words than she expected out of him. There were some days where Mickey talked more and today was not one of those days.

She was actually worried about him. His face was beginning to sink in and it seemed like he was consuming more cigarettes than food. Sometimes he’d take a bite of a sandwich or a few spoonfuls of cereal, but otherwise he was surviving on cigarettes and beer.

“You waiting for call from clinic?”

“Um, yeah.” He answered, sounding despondent.

She walked to the kitchen and he could hear the cereal go down the drain.

Truth was, he wasn’t really waiting for the clinic to call. He’d had a dream that Ian called him. He couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but he could feel that fuzzy feeling he used to feel around Ian when he unlocked his phone in the dream.

It was devastating when he woke up on the couch, and realized it was a dream.

How could something that felt so real slip away so fast?

He knew it was a dream, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that today would be the day. Maybe Ian would turn around and call him—he didn’t even need for Ian to want him back—just for Ian to acknowledge him and his existence.

Still, the phone screen stayed black.

**********

Mickey lit up as he got off the train, walking at a faster-than-normal pace through the blue line station.

His appointment was in a half hour, but the UIC campus was like a freaking maze to him, so he was in a hurry so he could have enough time to get lost and then found again if need be.

The cigarette hung from his mouth as he tried to make sure his papers were together so they wouldn’t blow away in the wind.

It was fall, and the weather was starting to show signs of winter with the crisp coldness that bit at Mickey’s cheeks.

He took long drags from the cigarette, eager to get that hit of nicotine before having to see Erik again, as well as so he could put his other glove back on.

As soon as he got across the street, he was at the UIC Forum.

“Shit.” He looked around and remembered passing this building last time Svetlana drove him.

He threw the cigarette butt away and put on his other glove. He felt out of place, looking at the students who were ambling around.

He continued to walk north, he was sure that was where the medical district was.

When he made it down the block, he saw the sign “UIC Medical District” with a directory besides it.

Interstice was just another block away.

When he finally got there, he waited outside for a moment. From all the walking he did, he figured he deserved another cigarette so he tucked his papers and a glove under his arms and lit another one up.

“That’s bad for your health, you know.” A voice called out.

Mickey didn’t know who the fuck this person thought they were, but he turned around, ready to face whoever wanted to fuck with a Milkovich.

It was Erik, in his lab coat, and he too had a cigarette in between his fingers.

He walked over to Mickey who was already dreading the premature interaction.

“You’re early.” He noted.

Mickey tucked his lighter away in his pocket, “Wanted to have enough time to get lost.”

Erik chuckled, “Yeah, it’s a large campus. When I first started here, I made it to at least one class a week cause I got so lost.”

They smoked in silence for a bit, Erik’s cigarette was going to be ending soon. Still, Mickey felt he wasn’t going to leave his side.

“Aren’t you cold? It’s like 30 out here.” Mickey hoped to bring his awareness to it so he’d go back inside.

“Nah, I’m like a space heater.” He let out one last breath of smoke and stomped on the butt, then turned to Mickey who still was staring off into space.

“Those for me?” Erik asked.

“Huh?”

Erik pointed, “The papers.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

Mickey handed them to him, and he immediately began to look through them.

That was something Mickey noticed about him. He was always ready to dive into his work. They weren’t even in the building yet, and he was already working while on break.

“I’m done. I’m goin’ inside.”

He started walking and Erik was already beside him.

“It looks good. Don’t bother with the waiting room. We’ll just get started when we go inside.”

“That’s the last time I’m early for anything,” Mickey thought to himself.

**********

They got into the room, and Mickey sat down once again. He wasn’t in the mood to bare his soul, but he was having a better day out of all the post-Ian days he’d been having.

He’d never admit it to anyone, but walking around Chicago was one of his favorite things to do.

The big buildings and all the people made him feel so small that every problem he ever had just felt so miniscule. He was one in a billion, lost in a sea of people that kept flowing whether he lived or not.

He was also a sucker for a good view of the sky.

However, being in a small room with discount Ian was ruining his slightly elevated mood, so he didn’t speak until Erik had something to say that he could respond to.

“How have you been?” he asked.

“More or less of the same.” Mickey admitted, as he wondered if he should take off his gloves and show off the crass tattoos on his hands or keep them on.

“That’s actually good, believe it or not.”

He was going to keep them on, he was still cold anyways, “And why is that?”

“Some people can let go easily, others can’t. Some of my colleagues have had people already drop out because they felt they would be fine on their own or they came down here on impulse and then resolved the conflict days later.”

“Congrats on hitting the fucking jackpot with me, then.”

Erik took a seat at the computer, typing some stuff into a file that Mickey could see had his name, address, and whatever else he gave them on it. It was a considerably large file for only having two appointments so far.

“What are you doing?” Curiosity got the better of Mickey and since this was concerning him, it was his business.

“It’s just your file. I have to keep everything up to date. In science, there is no room for error.” Erik explained.

“It says here you had a recent head injury?” Erik hadn’t seen that the first time he skimmed it over.

“Yeah, it was no big deal. Just a cut, really.” Mickey explained.

Erik looked a bit skeptical, “Just a cut? I need your honesty, Mickey.”

“A bullet grazed me, and it was barely anything. My wife took care of it at home, that’s how not a big deal it was.”

Erik’s eyebrows raised when Mickey said his wife. He’d figured this whole thing was about a relationship, but if the injury was recent and his wife patched it up for him, who could have Mickey been trying to forget?

He didn’t push yet, though. In a few more appointments, he’d have the whole story.

Instead he just settled for saying, “You never cease to amaze me, Mr. Milkovich.”

**********

He was on his way home after the appointment.

Svetlana couldn’t pick him up, since she once again was meeting with wannabe parents who wanted to rent out her pelvis.

He was fine with it though, it brought in good money that could be used on his own son.

As soon as he was released from the office, he was lighting up for his semi-long walk back to the station, wondering what the fuck that appointment even was.

He was sure that if Erik didn’t look so much like Ian, he wouldn’t have gotten away so much shit with Mickey.

Mickey hadn’t told him to back off when they were smoking before, because admittedly, he hadn’t wanted him to. Which concerned him.

Erik was not Ian. He looked like Ian, but he didn’t have Ian’s eyes. Maybe if Mickey would actually look at him for more than 3 seconds, he would start to see that.

Then with that last comment about amazing him…it made Mickey’s stomach flip.

He didn’t know how he felt about that, but he didn’t want to spend too much time thinking about it. The task at hand was more important, and that was forgetting Ian.

Pretty soon all redheaded, pale, freckled boys would mean nothing to Mickey.

They would all just be nothing but a warm mouth to him.

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

He hated this part, watching the blood spill into the vial as the tourniquet squeezed his arm. He would tell himself to look away, but curiosity got in the way and he’d watch as it would first slowly trickle out and then fill the vial.

The nurse undid the tourniquet and put a cotton ball against his skin as she pulled out the needle. She pressed it down hard as she put a piece tape over it to keep it in place.

“The doctor will be in to speak with you soon.” She told him.

Ian rolled his sleeve back down, minding the cotton ball. His skin was a little tender from the needle, but snagging at the tape was what really hurt.

He learned that two weeks ago.

He was getting a little bit more used to with the maintenance that came with being bipolar, but he wasn’t going to claim that he was 100% on top of it.

Like people were telling him, it took time. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but it was the truth.

The first week of medication was hard. When they said he was going to sleep a lot, they weren’t lying. It felt like no matter how much sleep he got, he needed more.

At least his boss was understanding, Fiona told him all about it and he understood that Ian had to do what he had to do.

But now, it seemed like with all the bloodwork and fine tuning, he was functioning better and working about three days a week. It didn’t take forever like he thought it would have at first. He just needed to stay persistent.

“Hello, Mr. Gallagher.” The doctor was finally in, looking worse for the wear. That’s what came from working at a free clinic, a lot of families and so little time to give all of them undivided attention.

“Hi.”

“How have you been doing on the new round of medication?” The doctor clicked his pen and was ready to write down anything Ian told him.

“Better than the last. Still have a shaky hand and I’m thirsty all the time. I still feel like I sleep too much.” He answered.

“That should level off as you get used to it. How much do you think you’re sleeping?”

Ian felt sleepy just talking to him, but not like he was dead tired.

“About 12 hours. Used to be an all-day thing, though.” Ian told him.

“See? Takes time. Let it run its course.” The doctor scribbled down his prescriptions on the sheet and gave it to Ian so he could get a refill.

“Make an appointment at the front desk. See you in about two more weeks.” The doctor was already onto the next patient.

It was quicker than the first appointments, but he figured it was a good sign. It meant he was improving.

“How’d it go?” Fiona asked when Ian got back from making the appointment.

“Just have to get a refill. Can we stop on the way home?”

“Yeah, I gotta find something for dinner anyways.”

Ian put on his scarf and jacket, two things he hadn’t really needed when he began taking the medication.

They walked outside together, taking immediate notice of the cold weather that Chicago had to offer. The sun was already setting and it just hung in the sky, shining over dilapidated buildings and piss scented alleyways.

Even though his hands were cold, he took his phone out of his pocket. No texts, no calls, nothing from anyone.

“You could call or text first, you know.” Fiona told him, not bothering to act like she hadn’t seen it that time.

Ian had given thought to it, but he didn’t know what the fuck to say or do if he did. He was trying to focus on getting better and calling Mickey back might not be a way to do that right now.

“Even after like, a month and a half?” Ian reminded her that it had been that long since it all went down.

“If Jimmy can come back after being dead for a year, you can call your ex-boyfriend who you haven’t talked to in a month and a half.” Fiona argued.

“You can call your husband who’s mysteriously been on tour after he said he was coming back and tell him you’ve been sleeping with your boss.” Ian shot back without hesitation.

“Fuck off,” Fiona said, surprisingly not sounding angry. “I called a divorce lawyer two days ago.”

“No shit?” Ian asked, and she shook her head. “Congratulations.”

“I just feel like, if he hasn’t called, he’s better off without me. I mean, I told him I didn’t want him waiting for me like I was a ticking timebomb.”

“Do you feel like one?”

“I don’t know.” Ian admitted. It was a good question, but he couldn’t say for sure.

**********

Fiona was doing some shopping as Ian waited for the pharmacy to give him his refill.

It would take around 15 minutes so he sat on the bench to wait. He took his phone out, pressing the menu button only to see the same thing he’d been seeing, and that was his lock screen, sans notifications.

It used to be a photo of him and Mickey, but on impulse he’d deleted all of them, trying to make himself believe it was really over. Now it was just one of the ones that was stored on the phone.

He put it in his pocket, still trying to get used to the fact that it probably was over. He knew Mickey—and when Mickey was done with you, he was done with you. Ian was usually the exception, but this time had a sense of finality.

“Hey.” Fiona walked over, carrying the bags that contained tonight’s dinner as well as other stuff to eat throughout the week.

“They should be ready soon, the lady said 15 minutes.”

“No rush, I’m not too excited about lugging this shit home.”

“I’ll help you.”

“I know you will, I still am not excited.”

Ian gave her one of his signature half smiles, looking like the complete dork she’d missed.

“Gallagher?” The pharmacist called out.

Ian got up and went over to the desk, “That’s me.”

He took the meds and handed them to Fiona, his hand shaking a little.

“Still got those tremors?”

“They come and go.”

Fiona put his medicine in one of the bags, not daring to ask if he was okay to hold them. He’d made it clear when he started taking medication that he didn’t want to be treated differently.

They took two bags each, and went back outside to brave the Chicago cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% familiar with the inner workings of bipolar disorder, so hopefully I did alright at portraying Ian in a better light. Some people say the way the show treats it resonates with them and some people say they've got it all wrong. I feel like even though a mental illness is textbook, some people feel it differently than others so it depends on how the person views it. Either way, I hope you enjoy the shift here!


	5. Chapter 5

Her feet were sore and she could feel that the blister on her right big toe had probably popped. Her whole body ached from all the walking she had done just to get to the train, and her face…she didn’t even want to look in the mirror at her face. She wouldn’t recognize herself, not how she looked, not how she felt, not who she was.

The crashing of thunder filled the air as she stood at the station, shuffling her weight so each foot could get a little relief. She had her ticket in her hand, trying to shield it from as much rain as possible because it was what was going to get her out of this place.

Fuck, she felt so stupid. She should have never left—at least not with him.

The rain was coming down rapidly now, and it was as good a time as any. She felt her split lip curl up and she gnashed her teeth to grit away the pain her whole body was radiating. She started to cry quietly to herself, the taste of salt and blood mixing in her mouth.

“Fuck.” She whispered to herself as she felt her phone ring. She was surprised it still worked after how drenched she was.

She answered it.

“Listen fuckface,” she was hiding the tremble in her voice, “I’m not coming back this time. I don’t give a shit how fucking sorry you are. I don’t give a shit that you need me. I don’t believe for a second that you won’t do it again. Take your empty apologies and shove them up your ass.”

She could hear him screaming her name over the phone when she pulled it away from her ear. She went over to the ledge to the see if the train was coming, she hadn’t hung up.

She could see the lights through the fog, and they were approaching faster and faster. It would be at her feet in just a few seconds.

3…2…1…Mandy chucked the phone onto the tracks and she saw the train wheel just crush it.

“Good riddance.” She said when she walked up the train and saw the smashed bits of metal and plastic underneath the train.

**********

She had to admit she was scared. He could come back and find her. He would hurt her, but he’d already been doing that.

She didn’t know why this time had been different. He always said sorry but he always did it again. Her life was going to be nothing but waiting for the next beating.

It was enough. She made excuses for him—to hide it. She fell down the stairs too many times. Slammed her hand in the oven. Tripped over the coffee table. It was enough, it had been enough for a long time. It was enough when it was the first time.

She tamped down her thoughts, trying not to panic. Now she was just looking at green pastures, large hills pressed against the gray sky, and birds flying away, looking for shelter for the night.

Her feet were finally feeling some sort of relief from sitting down and her clothes were clinging to her, but the train was warm and she was sure they’d dry soon. It was going to be a long ride back to Illinois.

As the birds flew out of her sight, Mandy felt herself falling asleep under the guise of temporary safety.

**********

“Fuck! That’s cold.” Mickey yelped in surprise when Erik placed the first node on his forehead.

“It’ll warm up with your body temperature, don’t worry.”

It was weird having Erik’s skin brush against Mickey’s forehead as he attached all the equipment they were going to be using for the day. The only thing that was keeping him level headed about the whole thing was the presence of Tamera—another young looking doctor on the project.

She was tall, with hair darker than Mickey’s, and everything about her was brown. Erik didn’t look too interested in her though, but he did say she was brilliant and “a catalyst in this program.” So Mickey figured their relationship was purely professional.

“Ok, Mr. Milkovich, you know what we’re doing today?” She asked in a polite tone.

He glanced over at a nearby table, seeing all the stuff he brought in laid out.

“I take it all that stuff I lugged down here on the L got something to do with it? And call me Mickey.”

She grinned, “Exactly, Mickey. We’re going to give you an item, you’ll talk about it for a few minutes, and I’m going to be looking at the parts of your brain lighting up on the screen. This is essentially us mapping out the route we’re going to take when we start the actual procedure.”

He looked back over at the table.

There was the jacket Ian got from the army that he never picked up. It had his nametag on it and it even still smelled like him. Then there was a novelty golden tie Ian wore while he danced. Mickey thought it was ridiculous, but Ian could pull it off. There was nothing that didn’t look good on Ian—especially Ian wearing nothing.

“We’re going to go backwards, from your most recent memory. Are you ready?”

Mickey gulped, a tear fell from his eye, but he wiped it away just as soon as it appeared.

“Yeah.”

**********

He described everything that they asked him to. When they could tell he was holding back, they pressed for more.

It was a journey, mapping out the places in Mickey’s brain where Ian’s images lived on. The memories from when they were together embedded in different areas, triggering different emotions.

There were memories that were happy, and even though Mickey felt like shit as he talked about them, he would smile. For sad memories, the unmistakable sound of the lump in his throat could be heard as he talked and tried to hold back tears. There were even memories that made him a little angry, and he’d swear a lot more as he talked about those.

By the end of it, he was sure that he would actually fall asleep tonight because he was so drained.

Erik removed the nodes, and Mickey was silent. His heart felt heavy inside his chest.

Tamera was printing out the different screenshots of the scan and was labeling them. When she finished, she nodded at Erik and got up to leave.

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Mil—sorry. Mickey. I’ll be seeing you again for the actual procedure. Have a good evening.” With those parting words, she was gone, the sound of her heels distantly clacking as she got further away.

“This is one of the hardest parts of the process.” Erik softly admitted, his voice only slightly above a whisper.

Mickey didn’t respond, but Erik kept going. “Our patients specifically have their memory of the procedure erased as well. However, some of the people who work here have had it done. They still don’t remember what they had erased, but they know they had it done.”

That earned a look of curiosity from Mickey.

“I was one of them. I still don’t remember why I did it. However, I’m sure I had a good reason.”

“Why do patients have to have the memory of the procedure erased?” Mickey asked.

“We aren’t exactly sure if knowing you had it done will make you remember it all yet. Some people who work here have very vague memories of what they had to forget, but no one has fully remembered it yet.”

It all sounded terribly permanent to Mickey, but he was still going to go through with it. He’d gotten this far.

“This means you won’t remember me either,” Erik said, not even bothering to hide how he felt about that in his voice.

Mickey’s eyes opened wide. What the fuck did this guy think this was? A series of dates?

“I want Ian to mean as much to me as you already do. And that’s nothing.” His voice was sharp enough to cut glass.

Mickey took off the last two nodes and gathered his stuff up to leave. He put on his coat and scarf, and got on his gloves so he could get the fuck out of there.

He slung the bag over his shoulder as he walked to the door, but Erik stepped in his way.

The look Mickey gave him was one that could kill—he’d be out for blood in seconds if Erik wasn’t smart about it.

“Wait. I’m sorry. That was wrong of me. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I’m going to say it once. Move.”

The last thing he wanted with Mickey was a fight, so he did what he said and moved.

**********

Tamera had seen Mickey stomp down the hallway. She went back to the room where Erik was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall.

“What was that?” She asked, knowing full well he had something to do with it. Erik had a great work ethic and was a good medical student, but remaining professional was one thing he lacked.

“That was me, making a terrible decision. One of many.” He took out a cigarette and put it in his mouth.

Her face twisted in disgust, “Go outside.”

“I am. And when I come back, I’m putting in a request to be reassigned.”


End file.
